


Incorporeal

by spikesgirl58



Series: Working Stiffs [2]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's it like to lead a life and be invisible?  Written for Taming the Muse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incorporeal

**in·cor·po·re·al**

_adj._

**1.** Lacking material form or substance.

 

 

Incorporeal, yup that would be me.  Nobody sees me, nobody wants me, until… well, that’s my story.

I grew up the middle kid of a middle kid.  I was average height, average weight, average everything.  I got average grades in school, was an average player on every team I joined.  I could walk through a room and no one would know I was there.  It is okay now, but as a kid, I felt invisible.  Hell, it was the only thing I was ever any good at.

So, one average day, while working at my average job, I had a less-than-average moment.  This old guy dropped something.  It was a thin wallet like thing and this young guy grabbed it and took off. 

“Stop, thief,” the old man shouted, but no one did anything.  The young guy raced past me and I just happened to stick my foot out.  The kid went down like a ton of bricks and I just happened to get really tired at that exact moment and sit down on top of him.

“You just hang on for a minute, fella.  I think there are some police who’d like to talk to you.”

What I didn’t know was that it had been a set up, just to see if anyone would take a step forward.  I happened to be sitting on one of the top agents that UNCLE had to offer only I didn’t know it at the time.  Thankfully, Mr. Kuryakin didn’t hold a grudge.

Everything sort of went a little crazy after that and I thought my days of being an average joe were at an end… nope, not at an end, just a change of venue.  Or maybe that’s not quite right.  I mean, I love my job, it’s just that no one ever really thinks about me… about us.

You see, I’m part of a small group of people who handle the clothes of the agents.  No, I’m not in the laundry and I’m not a tailor.  We have a much more delicate job.

When our Section Two agents go out into the field, they go with a host of weapons.  They have their P-38s, but they also have more… delicate weapons.  They have explosive watches and buttons.  They have thread that can detonate a bomb big enough to remove a door from its hinges.  Some of them have lock picks and even an acetylene torch sewn into their clothes.   And when they come back, injured, from a mission we are often the first line of defense.   Before any doctor can handle an injured agent, we are called in to ‘deactivate’ him.  You see, doctors get nervous handling patients who might suddenly explode and take a finger or hand with them.

That’s when I materialize from the woodwork.  They never saw me before and would pass in me in the corridor without a glimmer of recognition.  That’s why I say we’re incorporeal.    We’re the Ghosts from UNCLE.

WE were working on perfecting a new style of C-4 button.  Research was brilliant at coming up with stuff, but they were not as good with the practical application.  It’s fine to have a C-4 button.  It’s not so fine if it breaks the minute it’s used it as a real button.  Our guys needed to not only be protected, but also have a sense of propriety.    Gaping shirts were not so great.

There was a call and we all stopped.  There were only two times when the phone rang down here.  Once was to let us know there was a new item for testing; the other was a downed agent.  I always prayed for the former.  They may not see me, but I saw them and the good work they did.

“Recovery and testing.”  Sam was another guy like me, average in every way, except for the commitment he had to his work.  He brought dedication to a whole new level.  He used the speaker phone, so no one would feel left out.  We are a group of guys who were invisible to everyone except each other.

“Medical, we need your services.”

“Understood.”  Sam clicked the speaker off.  “Andrew, it’s your turn.”

I nodded, both excited and terrified.  I hoped it was an agent from another location, a stranger.  I hated it when I knew him.

I grabbed my kit and headed for the elevator.  Hands patted my back as I passed.  Heath got a bit low and when I turned to glare, he winked.  He’s a great kidder, that Heath.

The elevator dragged along.  It never went fast when you wanted it to.  I think Einstein had something to say about that.

They were waiting for me as I stepped off the elevator.  They were all wearing protective aprons, like that would protect them if something went off.

“Hurry, man!”  Someone, I’m guessing the surgeon, grabbed my arm and half dragged me down the hall and into the operating room.  He gave me a push and I stumbled forward.  I spun to give him a piece of my mind and I was alone except for the guy bleeding on the table.  That was unusual, even for these guys.

I shook my head and walked up to him and moaned inwardly. 

“Hey, Mr. Kuryakin,” I said.  I wasn’t sure if he could hear me, but I didn’t want to take him by surprise.  Even half dead, these Section Two agents are lethal.  “It’s me, Andrew Cummings.”

He made a noise and moved his head just slightly.  His eyes were tight with pain and I watched a tear trickle from the corner of one of them.  Nothing to be ashamed of, not here, not now.

“I’m just going to make it safe for the doctors and nurses.”  I set down my bag on a metal table and took out a silver container.  Until those flimsy aprons, this could withstand a blast.  “Are you carrying anything internally?”

The head shook slightly and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.  I hated going fishing for that stuff, knowing how much more pain I was causing.

“Okay, I’m just going to cut stuff off.  I’ll be as careful as I can.  Try not to move.”

I went for the buttons first, although they are pretty harmless without the detonation cord.  I cut the buttons away, carefully, but quickly, making sure that no thread clung to them.  I dropped them into a small Petri dish of gel.  That kept them quiet.

Next I worked his belt off and put that into the canister, then the clasp of his pants.  There was a lock pick in the fly, but I left it behind. 

Easing the zipper down, I was relieved that he was wearing regular underwear.  Of course, the elastic was impregnated with a powerful combustion agent.  All the agent needed to do to activate it was apply a little acid and it would eat through most metals.

Right now it looked dry enough to leave alone, so I moved down to his shoes. I worked them off and then slipped them into individual shoe bags.  Again, no reason, I liked being neat.  I was just about to remove his socks and that’s when I saw the trigger mechanism. 

He’d been rigged to blow before being rescued.   THRUSH knew we’d take him back to HQ and *boom*!  I swallowed.

“Mr. Kuryakin…”

He nodded.  He knew.  Shit, this was not the way I’d envisioned ending my career.

I found a pair of scissor and cut up each pant leg, flaying them like a fish and exposing the bare flesh.   The cords ran up both legs beneath the shorts and disappeared under his shirt.

Holding my breath, I lifted the shirt and moved it slowly, uncovered him and the bomb.  In that moment, man’s inhumanity to man exploded in my head.

“Just hold on another couple of minutes, Mr. Kuryakin.”  I walked to the door of the operating room and push.  For one horrifying moment, I fear it was locked, but it was just sticky.  I walked out and looked the clutch of people there.  “I need the bomb squad now.”  They all exchanged looks.  “NOW!”

That got the response I wanted.  I went back in.  Kuryakin’s breathing was starting to get erratic, not a good thing for him or that little mega-bomb of destruction taped to his stomach.  I went back out.  “I need someone to administer a sedative.  He’s starting to thrash about.”

One of the nurses handed me a hypo, then a second nurse snatched it from me.  “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.”  I followed her back in and watched as she injected Kuryakin.  Almost immediately he quieted and she reached for his hand.

“No!” I shouted and she jumped.  “Sorry he’s rigged to explode and I’m not sure what might prime him.”

The bomb squad arrived and we were hustled out.   Ten minutes later, they came out in a hurry with something in a crate.  I didn’t ask them what because I didn’t care.  The doctors and nurses shook their hands and praised their skill.  I, apparently, was chopped liver.   I went in and finished collection our devices.

They hadn’t been careful with Kuryakin, just stabilized the bomb and ripped it off.  There were long red marks from the tape and I knew they would be painful.  Yet not as painful as having your stomach blown open either.  I gathered my stuff just as the doctors and nurses headed in.  They pushed past me without even bothering to lock eyes with me.  I’d done my job and now I returned to the incorporeal wasteland that is my life.

I was walking wearily to the elevator when a voice stopped me.

“Mr. Cummings?”  The speaker was none other than Napoleon Solo.

“Yes, sir?”  He didn’t look like the top agent and the next in line for the Section One, Number One throne, but there he was.  He held out a hand to me and I took it.  He shook it somberly.

“Thank you.  You saved him.”

“Naw, I was only doing my job, just like he was doing his.”

“If you hadn’t shown him care and consideration we would all be dead now.”

“I guess we would.”

“So thank you for--” Solo paused as if searching for the right word.  He smiled sadly.  “Everything?”

“No problems, Mr. Solo.”

But you know, that was the first time in my life I didn’t feel average or incorporeal for he’d seen me, really seen me. 

I walked back to the elevator and stepped inside.  The doors closed and for the first time in the nine years I’d been riding in them, I realized you could see your reflection in the polished metal of the door.    What do you know?  For the first time in years, I could see myself, a sort of good looking guy wearing a nicely fitted suited, well groomed and carrying a tool case.  And for the first time in many years, I grinned at myself.  Maybe, just maybe, Heath was going to get a lot more than he bargained for when I got back.  A fella can only dream…


End file.
